Pilatus

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya & Ingrid

Her sense of timing was disjointed, day and night crossed together inside the cave and it was ironically not unlike being in a jumpship. A sensation she had not known for some time. In the same way, the Knights had taken to “simulating” evening and day with the floodlights to keep everyone on some form of the same schedule. Though at times, on rare occasions when the weather outside was good, there was some sunlight visible through the rocky crevasses in a few places, but it was still an unnatural feeling. In the days that followed the raid there was so much work to do in repairs, refit and inventory, that it was easy not to think about it, but the unbalanced feeling was always present. As short as they were on technicians, her extra hands and eye for details had helped Sol’s operations considerably. The mechs were running ahead of schedule in repairs. However, she was tired, being the only person that went on the mission and then actively participated in the resulting service. About the only saving grace was the blessed shower. During the raid, when she had gone over all the loading manifests, it was the medical truck, she noticed, that included provisioning for a full mobile field hospital and also a small desalination unit with showers. Additionally, with the portable fusion reactor, it could be plumbed and properly hot. Thinking about it made her heart soar. She could take as many as she wanted and anyone caught peeping would face an involuntary scrapyard match with Sergeant Dalton.

Sitting on the back of the Von Luckner, legs crossed, head resting in one hand, she didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic at a glance. The scene in front of her was not unlike what she had worked out for Ziska’s Raven, only bigger. There were more screens, more cables and a hydra of connections that stretched up onto Ingrid’s machine. Her free hand tapped rapidly on a mobile console unfolded like a suitcase while her eyes briefly scanned the other displays. Some distance behind her the portable reactor hummed along happily and momentarily she grabbed a wad of her hair and smelled it, taking in a long pleasant breath of what remained of her coffee scented shampoo and searching for the ever encroaching aroma of grease, exhaust and sweat. If she could just get a music player of some kind, that wasn’t Pops’ makeshift guitar, a modicum of civility might be restored to La Casa Cueva as she had taken to naming it, to herself. She checked her watch. Still some ungodly hour by any normal standards and most everyone on the “day shift” was sleeping best they could. Ingrid’s dedicated tech crew were long turned in for the night after having helped Reya fit four brand new Holly SRMs into Susser Todd’s main launcher which was the current source of her frustration.

The missile diameter was the same, thankfully, but the Holly’s were shorter and lighter. The firewall had to be moved up which wasn’t too bad, but getting the mech to recognize the adjustments was… challenging. Unlike Ziska’s Raven which was happy and new and generally receptive to whatever Reya willed for it, the Ostroc was old, ornery and more often than not seemed to viscerally hate everything she tried to do with it. Several times she had to rerun the dryfire program, translating through multiple computers to “trick” the machine into thinking it was firing the correct ammo. The process was still not perfect and every failed attempt required a complete rebuild of the logic to generate a successful launch. In the mix of code and ancient dialogue the Lyran mech spoke, she was sure it was cussing her out in German. A red message boldly flashed across one of the other screens titled ACHTUNG! followed by some other 2500s era lingo. Reya gave the machine the finger.

She let out a sigh and rested back on her palms, feeling the cold armor of the tank beneath her and stared up at the rock ceiling for a moment. The problem was somewhere between the ignition and boost sequence, both of which happened in fractions of a second at the command of a trigger pull. Missiles were not her specialty, but she understood the principles perfectly. It was just getting the execution… A walk would be nice, she thought. Maybe some fresh air would help. Take a stroll and maybe chat with the perimeter guards just to clear her head and then come back. There was no way she was going to go to sleep. Not until she was satisfied and she was determined to earn even more of Colonel’s stoic approval. The coolness of the plating beneath her crept up her arm gave her a chill and she leaned back forward to her previous warm spot. She was wearing one of Lena’s hooded sweatshirts. Uncle Bucky’s Urbanmech Emporium The worn, cartoon logo on brown fabric reminded her of her friend when she wore it and Reya, busy as they had been, remembered that she hadn’t even thought about Lena since she had worked on the Raven. She shook her head. The thought left her feeling guilty and suddenly, very lonely. Her glance shifted over to where she had set up a crash pad for Sunny and herself, where the young girl presently slept in their little tent and container fort, but the feeling was different than before and she knew it had to be from going on the mission. She didn’t feel like the victim any more, or at least not as much.

—

Though it was perhaps a moment too quick to decide that, if only for different reasons.

From the shadows that lay just past the illuminated, makeshift repair bay, past the sleeping girl’s tent, came the ever-grim glare of the Duchess. She stood there, half-lit, and surprisingly didn’t immediately come with demands and grunts of dissatisfaction. No, once Reya’s eyes met hers, she stood there silently for a few seconds more before coming out to meet her. Now in the light, Ingrid could be seen wearing something quite unfitting with the image she had previously built: satin pajamas in a light blue, with gold lace, and by the way they seemed to bulge at the waist they were probably being worn over other clothing as well. Though as disheveled as anything in this cave, their opulence suggested that they were a rare article that escaped both the flight from Poulsbo and the good grace of Espia. The last time these had been seen within the Green Knights’ illustrious quarters was a year ago, and at that point, someone called them cute. She hadn’t been seen in them for a second prior to this moment.

Nevertheless, her expression seemed just as negative as ever, but just a bit more tired than she usually would let on. Any kind of anger on her part was too much effort for the night, perhaps. She had a similarly muted effect in her speech.

“Ms. Wyatt,” she said in a half-whisper once she was at the base of the Von Luckner. “I heard that some modifications were performed on the Ostroc this evening. Given my knowledge of my technical crew, I take it you were the one responsible?”

—

Seeing Ingrid’s ensemble, Reya nearly did a double take. As usually concerned with image as the Duchess could be, the garments were as surprising as the individual wearing them being awake. What was no surprise however was the blonde’s typical demeanor. The phrase, “factory settings” blinked through Reya’s mind as she looked back up at the Ostroc and then down at her main display once more as the woman approached. A tiny smirk worked its way around the corner of her lips that Ingrid could not see before Reya stowed the thought and continued a few more steps again through the tedious launch sequence knowing the woman would have questions.

“The Colonel asked me to go ahead and modify the launcher to suit the new missile ordnance we liberated.” Reya answered, sticking to the facts as she knew Ingrid preferred. Being in an elevated position, on top of the tank, made it easier to bring up the Colonel’s orders, but she could also sense fatigue in the woman’s voice. A sentiment not missing from her own. “Your tech crew helped me move up the firewall and we did a test fitment on all four tubes.” She said. Her eyes examined the rather exquisite garments for a moment as Ingrid stepped closer, right at the base of the tank. “All the hardware is good, I’m just finishing up with the software now.” She continued and tapped a few more commands, concluding with a sharp, matter-of-fact keystroke she knew would make the same red warning message appear again. “Susser Todd has a very succinct way of talking.” She said, tilting her head slightly towards Ingrid and turning the other display so she could see.

—

She wasn’t terribly happy when the word ‘modify’ was uttered, but that was just a brief flash. Her arms crossed, and her head went up, though a little too far back - her usual perfect posture degraded by the time of the night. It’s no wonder she rarely stays past curtain call to drink, beyond the social barrier keeping her locked out.

The display came up with the same call for attention as before, and its demands were succinct but authoritative. It was as Ingrid would explain: “Ostmann Industries…protective of their warranties.” She settled as she leaned into the side of the Luckner, giving the screen a disappointed look. “Half of my pre-sortie checklist is clearing errors from this poor thing. It’s not been well since my exodus, and it lets me know that…” Further disappointment from her, though who it could be aimed at is made a little less uncertain. “No fault of you and your technicians,” she added as more of an afterthought than a statement to save face, “It simply is a fact of life. Something this old…”

Then, Ingrid looked up at Reya. “I’m sure you would find this amusing; at the side of the Daschke family for generations were the Micheners. A few worked for our house otherwise, but the vast majority, for almost 500 years? In your position. A lineage of solely Battlemech technicians, all under our employ - and they plied their family trade well. It made sense, we were on the border. The Mariks came and visited often enough to where the family Ostroc and Starslayer didn’t simply sit in a bay for a century at a time.”

A little, wistful sigh escaped her.

—

“I can take care of those for you.” Reya said, referring to the parade of startup errors Ingrid mentioned. She tapped a few keys and then worked with both hands momentarily belting off a rapidfire chain of inputs across the keyboard. “I noticed them when I first hooked everything up, you should have said something before.” She tilted her head and bit on her lower lip with some amusement at the screen in front of her, hands slowed to allow Ingrid room to talk, listening to her wistful story as she continued.

All the mechs had personalities and often the machine reflected the person in the cockpit. Susser Todd was a diva, but she kind of liked that about it, the challenge. It didn’t just let her have her way. She could remember several ice cold professors that only viewed mechs as metal and computers with no personality and to be fair, a part of her adhered to that philosophy, but still another part of her knew there was more. They moved, they walked, they talked to her through the terminals, they made mistakes- they got hurt and they accepted a piece of the pilot’s persona. She’d seen it herself.

“I wish it’d been that straightforward where I’m from…” She relaxed some back on one palm, satisfied with what was in front of her and turning her glance back to Ingrid. There was a hint of scorn in her voice at the thoughts. “I’m the only engineer in my family and the first one.” She said. “I think both my parents would have preferred to have married me off, but here we are.”

Reya shrugged and turned the screen once more towards Ingrid. The list of startup errors were displayed. “Look familiar?"

—

It seemed as if it did. Her eyebrows arched in consternation; the same sort of look you’d give when you saw your beloved dog - once again - take a leak on the carpet before you could let it outside. A problem, and not enough to be so easily forgiven, but far too common to put too much of an effort into feeling anger. She drummed her fingers across the cold metal of the hull. “Yes. Yes, it does look familiar.”

She leaned a little closer to squint at the screen, but the speed and patter with which she read it out suggested it was at least partially committed to memory. “Warning, internal servo-motor diagnostic check failed under such and such place in the arm, deliver error code x0394-so-on-and-so-forth to technicians immediately. Laser focusing lens alignment outside of expected parameters (despite being realigned every time it’s been sent out), firing of Feursturm-B M-class LTR may result in catastrophic failure (it has yet to do so). Upper anterior cooling fan has broken, reinstall immediately or pilot death may occur…and to replace it would mean disassembling half the cockpit. The same as usual.”

Another squint, and she briefly ran her finger along the list. “But if you’ve stopped it from barking about that missing, never-existing heatsink, you’ve put in good work. The Micheners never figured that one out,” she said with a rare tone of reverence.

“...but yes. It is all familiar, though I have a feeling that most other manufacturers don’t make such dire warnings like that.”

—

Ingrid’s rare seal of approval did not go unnoticed. Reya’s hands worked over the keys again and she briefly glanced between the display and the mech. The Duchess never specified to actually wipe the error codes, so Reya memory banked them in one of the maintenance subsystems where they could be pulled later and would stop bothering her during the startup sequence. “They all speak their own language.” Reya said. The other screens became animated once again. “Some just like to talk more than others.”

Reya finally crossed her arms and exhaled slowly, running one finger over her lips examining the work on the SRMs once more. The ambient noises of the cave filled the air for a moment as the techs and laborers of the “night shift” went about their work with various tools and conversation. “You should feel a difference in the helmet with your balance,” She said finally. Her face had become a careful study while her eyes seemed to be absorbing data rapidly. “These SRMs are much lighter than your old ones so it should be more comfortable.” Her fingers tapped a few keys. “They’re gonna come out of the tubes like angry hornets.” She pointed to a line item highlighted in red. It seemed like Ingrid was following along so she continued: “The Ostroc’s ignition sequence for these is hardcoded and really was never meant to fire anything else but the heavy Totschlagens…” Her German was surprisingly on point, even hitting the accent. “...So you’re gonna get an increase in velocity for sure. It won’t cause any more damage- but you will probably get a tighter grouping and be easier to hit with.”

—

For once, someone’s pronunciation of a language that rarely leaves Lyran borders was not corrected. Ms. Daschke leaned harder onto the hull, her eyes briefly fluttering as she listened to the explanation. Her brow furrowed, first with effort to keep awake, and then with regards to Reya and what she had said.

“It would initially sound well and good,” she said, some more effort put into enunciation compared to her sleepy pronunciation earlier, “the idea of improved performance…but there is an issue I can foresee.”

She held up two fingers. “One, we have already been cut from supplies for this long; we can’t afford a live fire test. I’m sure the most basic simulations could give me numbers, but the feel,” she cradled an invisible pilot’s stick in her left hand while the two problem fingers shot forward, “it is not something I wish to rely on in the middle of a proper fight.”

She then withdrew her second finger after realizing she only had one issue to discuss.

—

Reya wasn't sure if Ingrid was going to fall asleep on her feet as she leaned further into the side of the tank below her. The Lyran was not much of a night owl, but she was right about the live-fire test. Though they were setting on a healthy supply of the new SRMs, she couldn’t see the Colonel allowing for any to be used in test shots. Not to mention the attention it could attract. Reya paused for a moment, watching Ingrid’s hands then looked up over the blonde at the rest of the cave, scanning for a moment and getting an idea.

“That stranger that came here… We still haven’t recovered the mech he claimed to have hidden in the woods.” As tired as Ingrid was, Reya wasn’t sure if she was following any longer. “The Colonel will send a recovery team with him to get it, but I know they don’t trust him and I don’t either.” She said. In her mind she was still putting the pieces together and her glance narrowed a bit at nothing in particular “If you go out with the recovery squad, you’ll at least get a chance to get used to the balance again and if he does anything shady, you can give him test fire.” She had no doubt Ingrid’s ability to put down hick Espian randos, but it would ultimately be up to the Colonel to decide.

—

Well, there were hardly any better people to make that request to within this company. Her suspicion had clearly laid on him since he waltzed right in, and it wouldn’t take a huge leap in logic to imagine, once he was fully vetted, her continuing to see him poorly with his peasant, low-born nature. She had not often acted in discrimination to the non-noblemen and women of this establishment (presumably because that would be just about everyone here), but some did complain of what they could only call a ‘nobler-than-thou’ air about her.

“I think you may be onto something…wise. Wise…”

She rubbed her eyes, arching her neck and back in a vain attempt to keep awake.
“If you need me to move now, I’ll go out into the snow for a minute, that’ll wake me…”

Ingrid stared upward for a bit. Gears turned, sluggishly but consistently. “Ah. You…probably meant for the morning. Or later. Hmm. So be it,” she held up a hand and stifled a yawn, “You’ve got the Colonel’s ear far better than I do. Do your worst...”

Just as soon as she arrived, she had left, heading back to parts unknown. Keeping that stick up her ass must keep her exhausted.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

The return of the Knights had completely changed the atmosphere in the cave. The somberness and defeatism were gone completely and there was sudden, palpable energy among the staff and techs that had stayed behind. The raid had been a morale victory as much as it was a strategic and logistical one. There were a lot of smiles and pats on the back as Reya walked with Sunny, many from people that would have normally been too afraid to engage with some of her moods, but things were different now and she was not accustomed to such direct and genuine praise. She had put her life on the line the same as the Mechwarriors and the ‘Boys at a time when it mattered more than ever. It made her think if that was partly what the Colonel had wanted in sending her out there. A tired smile formed on her face and she couldn’t deny that the connection she felt with everyone had also changed dramatically.

“Children study tactics, men study logistics...” Lieutenant Lyons said with a sharp smirk as they looked over the footage from Reya’s drone. First controlled by Sergeant Dalton and then by Reya, ending with the only access route to Supply Depot F-10 being completely demolished. “...But today it was a woman.” Lyons continued. “Nicely done.” She said. “There’s a lot to unpack here, but it should help us figure out who we’re really dealing with; the Colonel will be pleased..”

“Also, check the manifest for the ammunition truck that survived.” Reya replied. She eyed Sunny about to push one of the many flashing buttons inside the command section of the Mobile HQ and snapped her finger and pointed. The young girl stuck her tongue out back at her, but relented. “They were storing Bryant 120mm rounds for an AC20, which is the same as the Merry-Go-Round...” Reya rubbed a hand over her forehead and brushed away loose strands of hair that had become a proper mess after a day of running, sweating and being trapped inside a piece of military equipment. She suddenly remembered how tired she was and that they still had to get to the formal briefing. “We got really lucky with that, but it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Understood, we’ll check it out. Get some rest and something to eat, you’ve certainly earned it.”

-

Making her way to the debriefing, Reya carefully looked over the rest of the Green Knights battlemechs as she walked. Archie and Black Phoenix looked okay for the most part, same for Raven’s Shadow Hawk, just smashed and scorched armor, but Susser Todd looked considerably worse for wear and Merry-Go-Round had broken suspension. Bizarrely, looking at the varying levels of damage, reminded her of one of her lecture classes back at the Imperial Institute. The concept of Combat Loss Grouping or CLG- that damage would be spread among the entire lance until one unit fell at which point, they would all fall in quick succession. CLG was evident among the Knights and likewise had affected the Crimson Fists, it had only bitten them harder and bitten them first thanks to Ingrid’s order to focus fire. That lecture felt like it was a million years ago, another life entirely. She walked on, but a voice called causing her to stop and turn.

“Miss Reya!” Magnus Licht, one of Ziska’s junior astechs ran up and presented a thermos along with a freshly liberated pack of wafers from the haul. “Brought you some tea, ma’am. Thought you’d probably be exhausted.” He was young, arrogant and interested in moving up the tech ranks as fast as possible. Reya represented a direct path of knowledge for him to ascend; that and the fact that she was considerably easier on the eyes than Ziska’s chief technician, Benidito Davids.

“Thanks…” Reya replied, not really in the mood for the younger man’s ass-kissing after just being nearly blown up, but accepted the items nonetheless. It would save her another stop. “Where’s Ziska? Is she okay?”

“Already at the debrief,” Licht replied. “Doc Yuri had to threaten her with a sedative to get her to sit still. She-”

“Holy shit! It’s a whole pallet of Fiesta Pail!” An excited voice declared among the din of movement around the convoy’s unloading crew. A raucous clamor of voices arose in response and Licht appeared torn on what to do next.

Reya looked past him momentarily at the feverish work already underway at Ziska’s Raven.“If you don’t get back on that mech, Davids will have your ass.” She said flatly.

“Uhh… Right!” Licht stammered. He backed away before turning into a half sprint. “I’ll catch up with you later!”

-

There was an open spot right between Ziska and Tarak and Reya ungracefully plopped down between them, far too tired to care about etiquette. She winced a bit as she examined Ziska’s bandages. “Are you okay?” She was pretty sure she already knew the answer. The newly opened bottle of Tikinov Vodka pretty much indicated Ziska was where she wanted to be, but it felt cold not to ask. The Raven pilot was her last remaining best friend and they had nearly lost her in the same way as Lena.

@Th3King0fChaos
@Abstract Proxy

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

Even strapped in securely, the last explosion had nearly lifted her out of her seat and she was sure the large wheels of the APC had momentarily left the ground from the blast force. Barely after she could even begin to reconcile this new horror, there was a new sound: rain. Pounding and torrential rain that washed over the lightly armored hull with such volume that all chatter within the small vehicle was ceased as the chassis lumbered and maneuvered towards the rally point as speedily as its driver dared. It was like a great curtain being pulled by some invisible hand over a small scene in her life that had brought her closer to death than she had ever been. The dim lights in the small space flickered over the rougher terrain and Reya, all adrenaline within herself completely spent, felt like she was being rocked to sleep in stark exhaustion. Within a few kilometers she was out and her head fell over like a ragdoll on Corporal Tucker’s shoulder.

------------

A gentle shrug woke her and she could see the other ‘Boys calmly preparing to disembark as her eyes slowly blinked open. Other voices could be heard outside amid the echoing rumble of a closed atmosphere.They were back at the cave and the stiffness in her neck ached badly. She massaged one hand over it beneath her hair and tried rotating her head around slowly. So tired she had been, that she hadn’t even loosened the belts and her shoulders and waist likewise ached from being held firmly in place. As she drowsily moved to unbuckle herself, Corporal Tucker stood up to fall in line with the rest of the company under Sgt Dalton’s command. She could hear the big Sergeant’s booming voice outside without even a hint of fatigue. He sounded the same as when they had departed. Tucker gave a small nod as they filed out and she was left alone.

Her hands moved slowly. Even though she had apparently slept for the vast majority of the return, she didn’t feel refreshed at all. The loose belts thunked against the hard seat and she let out a long sigh that dropped her shoulders.

Never in her life had she been so terrifyingly afraid. When they had fled the capital, she could at least see the threat and there was an idea of safety with the others and a tangible goal of escape. Even then, somewhere deep down, as arrogant as it felt to think, she didn’t believe they’d get her- and she was right, but the raid was completely different. Trapped inside a thin hull of metal, completely blind to the outside where a ferociously determined enemy had sought her violent death, her entire life had come down to random chance. Reya Wyatt, citizen of the Draconis Combine, heir daughter of Wyatt Interstellar, graduate of the Imperial Institute, dead on the backwater world of Espia where she had given up a bright future, voluntarily, to play war with a bunch of mercenaries.

She caught herself staring blankly.

Glancing outside, no one had yet noticed her with the lumbering arrival of the mechs. Reality was setting back within her mind and she immediately felt darkly regretful of the selfish thoughts. Still, as she looked at the ramp some part of her knew that she was now different from when she had stepped onboard.

“REYA!” Sunny shouted gleefully, running with arms wide. Reya Reya Reya, REYAREYAREYA REEEEEEE-YAAAAAAA! The young girl nearly took Reya off her feet and she dropped the case containing her drone on the cave floor. For a few seconds she didn’t speak and just held the embrace a little longer and a little closer. It was the same way Sunny often greeted Lena upon her return from the field and in some way, Reya felt like it restored her some measure of humanity.

“Did you get to do anything cool?! Sunny asked excitedly looking up.

Reya looked around briefly, still holding her arms around the girl. They were two supply trucks short. One of the missing told her exactly what the violent explosion had been before the rain and she shook her head slowly. Four people lost that could have just as well been her. At least the portable fusion reactor that she and Dalton had liquidated survived and there was already a crowd gathering around the unexpected prize. “Not really this time” She said, immediately seeing it wasn’t the recounting that Sunny was hoping for. “It was just-” Her voice trailed off when she spotted Pops’ ragged guitar. “Was he playing that depressing music again?"

“Oh my God, YES. He wouldn’t stop!" Sunny proclaimed with a dramatic measure of depleted ten-year-old patience. “I told him, I knew you’d be back, but he said it would be a jinx!”

Reya shrugged wearily. “Maybe he was right…” The exchange was cut short as she watched Dr. Yuri and one of her assistants hurriedly making their way to Ziska’s stricken Raven.

“Is miss Ziska gonna be alright?” Sunny asked, genuinely concerned. Even her young and inexperienced eyes could tell the Raven in particular had taken a colossal pounding.

“I think so…" But she wasn’t sure. Even injured, Ziska had managed to pilot the small mech all the way back, through a storm, with no problem. Reya wanted to go over, but knew better. Like herself, Dr. Yuri was a professional and she would only be in the way, especially with an energetic and inquisitive child in tow. She grabbed Sunny’s hand and picked up the drone case once more, “C’mon, I need to turn over all the footage my drone captured, after it’s copied, you can fly it around the cave all you want.”

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya & The ‘Boys

Green Knights, this is Gawain Actual…Hostile mechs inbound, rendezvous at nav-point Echo! Repeat, hostile mechs inbou--

As soon as Sergeant Dalton heard Gaiwan’s voice, he knew it had to be bad news. He shook his head and stood up as the APC rocked underneath him, steadying himself with an overhead handgrip. Speaking with his booming tone both on their channel and to the men of Alpha and Bravo Company right in front of him who had all heard the Colonel’s message same as him. “Got work ladies!”

—

In the second APC with Charlie and Delta Company, Reya had heard the message as well.

“What did he say?!” She gasped, eyes wide. No one answered, but they had all set into a seemingly well-rehearsed plan of action. Two large cases were brought down from the bulkheads of the APC, nearly as tall as she was, but she wasn’t interested. She knew what she had heard.

—

Dalton opened the hatch on top of the APC and stuck his head out just in time to watch the Crimson Fists darting for the column and the first volley of LRMs obliterate one of the haulers not far behind him. He recoiled slightly resting on his elbows like a tank commander and surveyed the rapidly evolving carnage. “Son of a bitch,” He growled and brought his binoculars up. In the far distance was the unmistakable form of what he knew to be a Longbow. It had been a while since he had seen one and he had nearly forgotten what a bizarrely inhuman silhouette they presented. The enemy pilot’s taunting words broke through the open channel and Dalton’s lips twisted in disgust. He turned and barked down the hatch behind him. “Bring me the talkin’ stick!” He tilted his head slightly to speak clearly into the mic against the rush of outside air. “On deck, ‘Tuck.”

—

The ground beneath Charlie and Delta’s APC rumbled like they were driving across a bass drum. Reya was white with fear and gripped Corporal Tucker’s uniform so hard she could feel her manicured nails pinching through the fabric of his sleeve and into her palm. Hearing Dalton’s orders, he put one hand over her wrist firmly. “Be right back,” He said, speaking as if he were addressing a small child. He reached past her as he got up and tightened the buckles in her seat making sure she was secure. “Just gotta take care of somethin’.”

Reya felt the rough texture of his BDU drop away from her grasp. She was too terrified to protest.

—

The Talking Stick was Sergeant Dalton’s favorite Inferno missile launcher and the words were haphazardly scribbled along the side of the tube in a white paint marker that had become worn over time and over many launches. A member of Alpha Company passed the long cylinder up the ladder until it lifted up from his hands in Dalton’s vice-like grasp.

The moving battle continued to erupt around him as Dalton hefted the launcher up through the hatch, sitting it as gently as he could on top of the APC as it bucked and rolled over the uneven terrain beneath him. He shook his head and steadied himself with one hand while locking his legs against the ladder beneath his boots. It wasn’t going to be an easy shot. He glanced back at Charlie and Delta’s APC a few lengths behind them. Corporal Tucker was in place and shouldering his launcher. As the ‘Boys best sharpshooter, Tucker was also their steadiest hand. Dalton slammed his armored gauntlet angrily on the roof of the APC. “Keep this damn thing steady!” He roared at the driver knowing full well the man behind the controls was doing his level best and was most definitely as scared shitless as everyone else, but Dalton just needed a patch of flat land and a couple seconds.

The Jenner passed by close along with the mangled Wolfhound. Both presented good targets but the terrain was too rough and he could barely get the launcher shouldered quick enough. They were gone before he could flip open the targeting screen and he cursed a long line of expletives as the motion beneath him seemed to get worse instead of better, like the driver had plowed right through a ditch. A second flight of LRMs closed in as he readied his aim. He paused to watch the arcs come in, knowing for the moment the convoy wasn’t being targeted by their trajectory, but seeing Ziska’s Raven get hammered, he knew which Crimson mech would have to take a lesson from the Stick. Unfortunately, with the Raven’s slim profile and agility, it would probably be the hardest shot of the three- but they didn’t have a choice. The Knights wouldn’t endure another volley and the next one could likely come for the unarmored convoy. He took a deep breath and shouldered the barrel snugly as the mech’s bird-like nose came around, sprinting away from Ziska and telling him which way to lead it. He activated the targeting computer.

The rotating crosshairs on the small screen snapped into an instant lock. For a split-second he didn’t believe it. It had to be a malfunction, but then he saw it.

Tucked into the side of the torso was Ziska’s NARC beacon.

Dalton didn’t question good fortune any further and squeezed the trigger. The missile angrily roared out the tube next to him, flying almost completely straight and true, barely correcting itself along its suicidal trajectory towards the beacon. He realized, as it soared away and the wash of heat from the blast passed over him, that in all his battles, he’d never once hooked an inferno shot to a beacon planted by a mech. It was the first time… and about as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Corporal Tucker’s shot came rocketing overhead, just as murderous in its intent.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

The three APCs clamored in immediately as the last of the resistance was put down by Ingrid and her mechwarriors. The heavy entry arm was smacked away and snapped like a tree branch against the hull of the lead unit as they raced by with Reya’s drone humming along overhead. The mech lance had swept the field quickly and thanks to the birdseye view, in addition to the Colonel’s beloved GDK squad intel, Dalton was feeling supremely confident about having things under wraps quickly. A few rounds panged off the side of the APC and the gunner responded with controlled bursts. Overall resistance was a mixed bag from what he could see, mostly in favor of surrender. The boys would soon take care of the true believers he thought with a dark satisfaction. These would be the first shots since Balya Gora and they were sure to feel good for himself and for the men. Payback was a bitch. Anyone that didn’t heed Ingrid’s warning was to be put down without warning and his sharpshooters would be carefully scanning for anyone with an inferno tube. The ramp came down and Dalton, alongside Alpha and Bravo squad, were on the move in a flash.

Reya shuddered as she could hear rounds literally hitting the side of the APC she was riding along with Delta and Charlie squad. It was just like when they had escaped the capital. The memory triggered a wave of nausea that zeroed into the pit of her stomach and she thought she was going to be literally sick with fear. She gulped in air timidly but a firm hand rested on her leg, not suggestively, but protectively, to calm her nerves. She glanced up to see a hardened face looking back at her with complete sincerity. Lance Corporal Tucker was her escort and tapped his forehead the same as Sergeant Dalton. He was younger than her, though his expression was almost ancient. The pure warrior. His face was burned on one side and still red from firing an inferno missile during that same escape. Some of the others looked back and nodded, giving her a thumbs-up, some even had broad grins. They were almost ecstatic. Her intuition began telling her that the Espian Guard inside were about to be much more afraid than she was.

“If they had anything left, they would’ve fired it by now on Alpha and Bravo.” Tucker said into her ear over the rumbline of the APC’s engine. He was referring to the sound of the caliber of weapons being trained on them from outside. Reya chided herself instantly for not realizing that on her own. It wouldn’t do any good for the Guard to set a trap when they were already surrounded by the Knights’ lance on the outside. The machine gunner over their heads fired back in bursts that mirrored Alpha’s gunner while the volunteer APC that was third in line rounded out the chorus. “Just hang tight, we got this.” Tucker said.

Amidst the staccato crack of exchanged rifle fire came the unmistakable kapow of shotgun blasts and corresponding howls of terror. Reya thought she could hear Dalton’s barking voice, but the ramp came down for Delta and Charlie right in front of her. The squads filed out quickly and Tucker took a kneeling position on the edge of the ramp. He was one of the few that carried a select-fire rifle with a suppressor and variable optic scope. Seeing him there poised to defend her life with his own was one of the mostly wildly attractive things she’d ever seen.

The whole thing was over in less than a minute.

Tucker waved for her to come up, relaxing just a bit. The barrel of his rifle lowered slightly and he scanned like a sentinel, returning hand signals to someone Reya could not see. The gunfire had stopped and she obediently ran up next to him with a low gait even though she was still inside the protective cover of the APC.

“We’re clear.” He said. “Convoy is lined up for you, nice and pretty.” He tapped the mic that was fastened to his fatigues. “If you need to talk on the radio, keep it short and quick, don’t hold the button and don't say any names.” He stood up fully, seeing that she was still visibly nervous. “Don’t worry about a thing, I got your back, Sarge is up ahead. Let’s go.”

Stepping out into the cloudy gray morning, Reya’s senses took in a plethora of feedback. The air was thick with a metallic taste of diesel exhaust, spent ammunition, salt and earth while the slowly moving overcast sky held it all in like a blanket. The convoy was lined up in the exact order the Colonel had described. Three J-27’s up front followed by three flatbeds with armor, two with water tanks, two more that were covered and presumed to be food supplies and one more clearly marked from the outside with a red cross as medical. Her vision temporarily drifted towards what remained of the prefab warehouse. The rapidly assembled building had provided absolutely zero cover for the few Espian Guards that had chosen to fight and the machine gunners along with the vengeful Boys had absolutely massacred them wholesale. Bodies were visible in various states of shock death along with the surviving laborers and other staff lying face down with their hands behind their heads. Her mouth opened slightly at the twisted sight of it. She forced herself to look away.

Stay focused, Reya! She thought and breathed in a deep dose of the disgusting air. Beneath her feet she could feel the tremors from the lance moving on the other sides of the high walls. They needed her to be quick about it. Glancing at her watch she picked up her step, hearing Tucker moving in kind a few steps behind her. Focus-Focus-Focus-Focus-Focus-Focus. She kept repeating it as they ran up to the front of the first J-27. As long as the Guard was following standard hazardous shipping protocols, the manifest would be in the door jam or the driver’s seat. Since the small installation was serviced by regular container traffic, she didn’t see any reason why they wouldn’t and there was no way the Knights would have time to remove the protective tarps and check every crate on every load. However, before she opened the driver’s door, she reached in her jacket and pulled out a small tablet, turning it on and finding the drone feed waiting. Sergeant Dalton had released it just as they had planned and she looked up to see it hovering high near the main comms tower.

Dalton came up seeing that Wyatt had paused, but she quickly turned the screen for him to see. “We need to take this.” She said sharply. The drone camera focused over a trailer mounted, portable fusion generator on the far side of the facility still humming along undisturbed by the excitement. “The volunteer APC will be mostly empty and easy to tow with. It should have an emergency shutdown switch. Throw it and pull the leads.”

Dalton tilted his head slightly at the sight of it and her words. “Copy that, I’ll take care of it.” He said with an affirmative nod and set off.

True to protocol, the Guards put the paperwork in the exact place where it was supposed to be. Reya pulled the first one and scanned it rapidly, flipping the pages quickly in their neat binder as she went. The Archer and Shadow Hawk were easy matches and Tarak’s Phoenix Hawk only required machine gun ammunition. There was a lot of missile inventory and she wasn’t sure if the Colonel was just testing her reaction in regard to finding correct SRM ammo for Ingrid. The chances of coming across more Totschlagens were about zero and Hollys were just going to have to do the job. Missiles were not her forte, but she could make them work. However as they moved along to the last truck, she was getting seriously nervous about Aroxy and the Von Luckner. It was their hardest hitter and needed a specific 120mm round for its main gun. When she saw the line item for the exact type in the final manifest, she almost didn’t believe it and read the line over three times: Bryant 120mm. The memory jolted her- the Crimson Fists had a Hunchback with an AC20. It’s gotta be a field upfit.. That meant it had to be with the column headed to Yuzhny Portveyn. The logistics of pairing that mech with that weapons platform were beginning to form a story in her mind, but she shook her head to store away the thought. They’d have to figure it out later. Stuff like that was right up the Colonel’s alley.

The volunteers moved to their driving assignments quickly. The water trucks were the most vital and would be the heaviest and hardest to drive- they got the best drivers, then the ammo, then the armor and so on down to the rations and medical. Reya checked every truck while the drone zipped up and down the rows of unopened containers taking pictures of numbers and markings that hadn’t been painted over or scratched out to hide their origin. Hopefully, the GDK might be able to piece something together about what was really happening on Espia. Tucker briefly glanced at his watch as Dalton came up with the volunteer APC towing the portable generator and she knew their time was almost up. It had been the quickest ten minutes of her entire life and it was time to go. However, there was still one more thing. She saw Ingrid’s Ostroc stalking outside the gate, ready to get underway again. It wasn’t her place to order them, but she could make a suggestion. It was up to Ingrid if she wanted to listen. She keyed her mic to talk directly to Ingrid: “Ramrod, this is…” It immediately occurred to her that she didn’t have a callsign and that she had about a third of a second to come up with one- One that Ziska would probably use to make fun of her later. The first thing that came into her head was Sunny’s cheerful face. Sunny, Sunny, Sun, Sun…

“...Sunflower.” The word just came out, but it felt right. She liked it instantly. “This base is serviced by regular shipping containers hauled in on trailers, once we’re clear, if you have Family Man crater the entrance with his cannon. It will shut them down for months.”

Logistics were a big part of the family business and she had heard enough of her father’s endless lectures about it throughout most of her childhood. The facility had one way in and one way out and it was surrounded by mines on all sides. If they ruined the one travel path, the contents would be effectively locked inside until the NPDRE could get heavy construction equipment on site, dig up some of the mines to make room and rebuild the entrance, all while continuing to fight a war and diverting their container flow to somewhere they didn’t expect. It would be a nightmare and would be worse than if the Knights just razed the whole thing to the ground. Everything inside that they needed would still be there, just out of reach. She smirked darkly ever so slightly at the thought of it. Digging up those mines would be an especially dangerous business. Daddy would be so proud. She hoped Ingrid understood.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

M I S S I O N I N P R O G R E S S

Western Continent, Espia
NPDRE Outpost F-10
18 April, 3030

Park checked his watch. They would at least make the departure time. Not by much, but they’d make it. He gritted his teeth. Sending the forklift operator to the medbay and taking a man off the job probably wasn’t the best move for their time, but that bastard could have killed them all. Unbelievable stupidity. He shook his head. The rest of the dim lot had got the picture though and loading was moving along at a newly found, fast pace. Still, something felt off. He couldn’t place it. He shook his head observing the fear in the laborers faces as they glanced at him unsure of what new trespass they had committed. However, his suspicions were confirmed when another lift operator rolled up in front of him outside of the designated travel path. His hand almost involuntarily moved for the whip at his side, but this man had a more seasoned appearance and knew the rules. Park stayed his temper.

“System’s down boss,” The operator said, pointing at the small screen attached to his machine. A simple program kept the receiving and shipping organized and monitored the inventory for the small depot.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Park growled. He marched up to the large machine furiously; however, another twinge of something familiar struck him, just for a fleeting second, like something moving under his foot, just as he stepped up onto the large forklift. There was not enough time to even consider it as he looked at the screen.

“Stuck on the staging screen sir,” The operator said with a shrug. “I can’t get my next pick.”

Park hammered one of the large buttons on the keypad with his thumb furiously, but the screen was frozen on the driver’s previous order from the system. His eyes darted around rapidly at the small screen while his hands tried various combinations of commands to reset the computer to no avail. His heart rate accelerated. They couldn’t afford a system outage at this time. It would take days to get someone from Balya Gora out to F-10 and his superiors wouldn’t be interested in tech failures as excuses for not making his shipments on time.

Something stirred beneath his grip as he steadied himself on the machine. Something under the handhold, under the machine, more than just the idling of the engine. He was sure of it this time, though as he looked up he immediately noticed the whole operation had come to a standstill. None of the equipment was running. All stopped with operators trying the same reset commands he was attempting. A grotesque wave of nausea swept over him briefly and It felt like he could literally feel minutes of his life being subtracted as the work had come to an abrupt halt right in front of him.

He jumped down and keyed the mic attached to his lapel, but a screeching tone of piercing feedback erupted from the small speaker directly into his face and across every other radio around him before he could get a word out. Almost like he didn’t believe his eyes and ears, he cautiously touched the small button again, sending another blast of painful distortion through all the speakers on every piece of equipment and every handheld on the channel. It was deafening and a roar of shouts and curses went up as soon as he let go of the mic again. For a moment he was at a loss. Nothing made sense. What the hell was going on? The realization struck him broadside as a solid tremor stirred the ground under his feet, shifting the dust on the prefab construction and causing ripples in puddles of saltwater rain.

Mechs inbound.

---

The situation had gotten much more exciting outside the walls of F-10 for the small quartet of Strikers and Scorpions. Sensors had taken a dump all at once, along with all comms. Unaware the other units were having the same problem, the commander of the lead tank, a Striker, had slowed and popped open the hatch to get a look at his antenna array, however instead of finding trouble with his equipment, he instead found a rapidly approaching full lance of mechs on the horizon. Panic quickly set in so much so that the commander completely overlooked the much lower to the ground Von Luckner and instead wheeled around rapidly firing signal flares in an attempt to get the others attention amidst the dead comms.

The reaction among the rest of the column was poorly inadequate with the Green Knights bearing down full bore. The other Striker continued on unknowingly at first, however, the trailing Scorpions had seen the distress flares from the head of the patrol and began quickly maneuvering back towards the supply depot. Their turrets rotated quickly, but getting steady aim off their regular, compacted patrol path was difficult. Of the mechs they could see in the dense morning mist, both the Raven and the Phoenix Hawk moved too fast to track along the rough terrain. A shockingly rare Ostroc and a Shadow Hawk were at a better angle as they turned, but were still moving at a rapid pace in their own right. What looked like an Archer brought up the rear but the best shots were going to be towards the Shadow Hawk and Ostroc. The pair opened fire as they retreated closer to the perimeter of F-10.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

There wasn’t much advice Master Sergeant Dalton knew to give or at least that he knew would be expediently helpful. The Colonel had mentioned that her mind worked about as fast as a super computer and often faster than her legs would carry. Further, he would have to keep her focused or she’d think herself into a nervous wreck before they even got halfway to the initial point. Bringing her along had changed his calculus a bit along with the unsaid message that if anything happened to her, he might as well not come back. He agreed with the sentiment and would hold himself to that standard whether it was implied or not. In his infantry career he handled similar missions with more variables. If the mech jocks did their work then he had no doubt the boys could handle the rest. As far as keeping their little guest occupied until showtime, he knew just the thing and it always worked to calm the nerves of the greenhorns. What was unusual was she didn’t seem at all put-off or surprised when he offered the flask. Almost as if she expected it. “Just enough for the edge,” He’d said as she winced at the taste. “Colonel needs your mind sharp and so do we.” They went over a few protocols and instructions in addition to the briefing he gave the volunteers. Once they moved in and cleared the zone, one of the boys would escort her personally wherever she needed to go and considering her appearance in comparison to most of the Green Knights, there was no shortage of volunteers for escort detail. “Miss Wyatt is considered VIP,” He told the squad. “She gets a scratch, you get a dent.”

The morning was crisp now, full of mist and a saltwater dew that could be tasted like sweat in the cold air. Dalton watched from atop their lead APC along with the rest of the convoy parked in a small depression among the rolling hills. Through his binoculars he watched the mech lance moving in along with the Von Luckner, feeling the dull thud of their steps through the armor of the machine beneath him. He let out a huff of amusement and shook his head at their banter before glancing down at one of his men getting a read for the wind with a wisp of fieldgrass. Weather moving in. He thought to himself, same as the Colonel had said, maybe even ahead a bit. He needed it to hold off a little longer. A deluge didn’t lend well to a firefight, particular when they had an extra head to look after. “How we lookin over there, Miss Reya?” She was sitting behind him, indian-style, on top of the APC behind a large mobile sensor pack that folded apart like a suitcase.

“We should a get a call from the Colonel anytime now to-” Reya answered, finding herself interrupted by Colonel Wayne’s voice over the comm.

"Activate the ECM and begin your approach. Good hunting and godspeed, Green Knights. The operation is a go."

“...to start.”

Hearing the sound of the Colonel’s voice, the rest of the Buckshot Boys finished off an energy drink or a cigarette as they knew Dalton’s orders were forthcoming.

There was a brief moment as the mech lance and the tank checked in with Ingrid and Reya looked over the top of the display in front of her in the distance, scantly able to make out anything clearly. She breathed in through her nose slowly. Another swig from that flask wouldn’t hurt. She could feel the tension growing in the air, like she was going on stage for some grand performance and her turn in the spotlight was fast approaching, unavoidable. The small arrows representing the Green Knights moved over the topographical sensor display in front of her eyes: Ingrid, Ziska, Marit, Raven, Aroxty and his crew, Tarak… A fleeting thought blinked through her mind about his antics and his stupid mix tape. He had brought her a gift, which meant he was thinking about her.

The screen froze and the image pixelated a fraction as Ziska made the call on the initial point.

Reya tapped a few keys rapidly as her attention snapped back to reality and glanced up at Sergeant Dalton. “It’s working.”

Dalton nodded affirmatively and tapped a finger on his forehead firmly back at her. The sign to stay focused. “Put the drone up and get over there with Charlie and Delta.” He looked down to see the squads already moving in anticipation of his order. Solid men, moving like a team without a word of instruction. He felt a good bit of satisfaction, but still barked at them like they were new recruits. They’d have felt let-down if he didn’t: “The rest of you slags, get it crankin! We got work to do!” He pointed skyward and moved his hand in a circular motion.

Among the tools and hardware she managed to throw onboard a transport when the Green Knights bailed out of Balya Gora was a small drone. Not that she thought it would be particularly useful at the time, but because it just happened to be close when they were making their mad dash to get away from the city. It was not of any military issue or brand and she’d only bought it as something useful to check out salvage when they were in the field. It had a few camera modes, one of which was thermal- something Dalton found very appealing. She closed up the sensor pack with a heavy thud and opened the much smaller case next to her containing the drone. A few quick taps on the controller tablet caused it to raise up with an excited whir from its tiny rotors. Reya let out a small sigh as she watched it jump up and hover overhead obediently. It was bright orange and red, not even close to designed for what they were going to use it for, but if it helped that was good enough. She hoped everyone was too busy to notice it, though it wouldn’t be the end of the world if it got destroyed. She’d lost much more important things in the last few days.

Dalton watched her scurry away to the second APC as the engines came to life once again. He glanced up as the small drone started to follow her like a pet before he synced his own wrist computer with it causing it to turn around and come back to him. As long as one of them kept line of sight with it, it would follow and obey commands, she explained. However under the Raven’s jamming, it wouldn’t find it’s way back home and would likely wander off if a direct signal was broken for very long. His controls would have priority until they were ready for her to come outside the APC.

Everything was set for his command when it was their time to take the stage.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

The briefing began to disperse with a noticeable element of purpose in the steps of the remaining Green Knights. Malaise and uncertainty had ended. There was now a mission and an ambient chatter returned as the crews, techs, staff and infantry set about their preparations. Reya glanced down at Sunny. It had been a while since either one of them had anything to eat and she partly wanted to investigate the rumor that the tank crew had voluntarily disassembled the mobile mess while she scrounged up something for both of them. However, an increasingly odd feeling returned and not one she’d ever considered before they were forced from the capital: Being a female with a child under her care. Even in their current state, many of the men among the Knights, particularly the ones from the more chivalrous districts of the Great Houses, seemed to go out of their way to provide what they could, whether it was a helping hand, food, drink or in one case, a mix tape.. She knew Lena never entertained such patronage, but those were different times. Often the help wasn’t needed though turning them away would have been in poor taste.

She let out a small sigh and felt cold air touch her skin again. Glancing back towards the small table next to the Raven for her jacket, the Colonel caught her off guard and she involuntarily tensed a bit at the sound of her last name. He had a gruffness in his voice that seemed to be made to speak through the external speakers of a battlemech. She ignored a few quiet murmurs from the last of the assembly as she directed Sunny to catch up with Pops for a bit while she spoke with the Colonel. Turning to meet his gaze, she immediately felt very unkempt and not up to her usual high standards of presentation; being not much cleaner than an astech after crawling all over the Raven for the last few hours. She was not a military type, but always presented herself with a strict air of professionalism when dealing with the Colonel, particularly when talking about the fitness of the Knights’ battlemechs. He was hard to read, having the weathered appearance of an old statue come to life, making her unsure what might be on his mind. If it was about the Raven or any of the other equipment, she could answer with complete mastery. If it was about Lena or her overall mental state, she wasn’t sure what she’d say.

"Yes, Colonel?"

@AndyC

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

Reya stood for the briefing alongside Pops who held one hand over Sunny. She didn’t expect any kind of public recognition for tuning up Ziska’s Raven to produce a signal about ten times more powerful than it would normally. It wasn’t the Colonel’s style and it most definitely wasn’t his style towards anyone from Kurita space. She had long accepted this reality. Maybe that was part of why she chose the Green Knights. It wasn’t a challenge she could just beat with intellect alone. He was an old warrior and he had fought some of the Combine’s most heralded commanders. Gaining his approval in spite of his prejudices, even if it was just a gruff “good job” or “thanks”, filled her with purpose and strength. She knew he was a good man and not being able to pilot a mech was killing him, particularly in their current circumstance. The thoughts reminded her of how much she missed their dropship captain, Sally, who was always an encouragement to her and a buffer against the Colonel’s sometimes darker moods.

Pops gave her a pat on the back and she turned briefly to find an approving nod of the head as the Colonel continued on about the total comms blackout the small mech would now produce. She could see some murmurings. Any of the experienced techs would know the baseline ECM equipment on a single Raven couldn’t generate the cover that he was describing and she listened on as the questions came up, replaying the array of setup screens and bypasses in her head. The same replay she’d mentally jogged through several times even in the small passage of time since the changes were made. The mech would have to be reset again to factory standards or every wiring harness inside the machine would eventually melt from overload. At least the weather on Espia would most likely continue to be in their favor- Cold and damp. She had all of the Knights beam weaponry trimmed beyond standard wattage and still operating at peak efficiency which provided an extra punch as long as the weather stayed bad… or good in their case.

The weather. She remembered.

The Colonel kept taking questions and seeing his eyes pass over her and Pops as he addressed the concerns back to everyone she mouthed the words at him to silently remind him, standing up on her toes as she did. “The weather.” Poor conditions were going to make the Raven’s jamming a better sell against NPDRE observers. A morning thunderstorm or hard rain would help them blend in with regular sensor disruption and cover them from any air patrols that might get dispatched. If it was a broad, sparkling clear morning. Then they would likely only have the estimated fifteen minutes or less before someone noticed a blank spot on the map and got suspicious. The forecast for the mission operations area was going to be a major factor in how much time they would have and subsequently, how much loot they would be able to grab.

Another thing occurred to her as she glanced across the other pilots and saw Ziska eyeing her with some curiosity. The Green Knights had never done anything like this that she could remember. The Colonel had always watchfully guided operations and commanded the field whenever they were deployed, however as soon as Ziska activated the jamming sequence they would truly be on their own. He had made it clear that they were to comport themselves professionally and it wasn’t her place to question tactics, but she wondered, when the time came, if they ran into something unexpected, who was going to be in charge?

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

Reya Wyatt

Reya couldn’t help but smirk a bit at the ridiculous performance put on by Tarak nor could she deny that it really felt good to smile for a change. There was no secret among the surviving Green Knights that she had taken Lena’s loss especially badly and that as a result, approaching her had become even more precarious than usual. Tarak was the first person within the last few days to even attempt any level of comedy towards her and it was like an unexpected medicine in her veins. She could feel herself relax just a bit from his antics, however, the Colonel’s call to assembly meant things were again going to start moving quickly. She hopped down first to the scaffold and made her way to the bottom level carefully watching her step across the hasty construction, displaying surprising balance as it swayed slightly beneath her. “If that were the case, then you’d do better with the former.” She said referring to the trademarked metal riffs of the Lyran Commonwealth he’d first mentioned. Taking his hand, she deftly sashayed off the bottom step as daintily as if she were in a formal ballroom and walked past him towards Sunny at the small table. “See, he gets it.”

Sunny rolled her eyes and continued reading.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to play it on.” Reya continued, removing her gloves and pouring a small cup of tea from a thermos. She examined her nails briefly and scratched General Kerensky behind the ears who, very ungracefully, rolled over on her back for further scritches to the belly. “We didn’t exactly have time to haul my stereo from the dropship.” She said turning back towards Tarak, seeing Ziska arrive with her usual bravado. She crossed her legs and took a sip as the Raven pilot began naming prices as she approached

“Oh is that all?” She said to Ziska with a raised eyebrow and took a sip. The large feline under her manicured nails stretched out and purred audibly even over the din of activity around them.

@Th3King0fChaos@Abstract Proxy